Of Love, Hate and other Fictional Emotions
by VacuumTan
Summary: Sometimes, she gets lost. Then she stumbles across one of them. Sometimes, she goes to see them. But is that really for her best? Collection of 2kki-one-shots; various genres, various characters, various pairings, various ratings;
1. Paint

**A/N: So... I thought I could write some Yume Nikki stuff to get over a huge Tetris-writer's-block. Then I noticed I came to like 2kki and .flow better. For fanfic, that is. But the latter isn't all that great for it either. So I ended up writing a one-shot-thingy for Yume 2kki. Then I thought I could write a bunch of one-shots for this with some of the male NPCs. About relationships. Probably. That's why it's only males.**

**That means various pairings, and the ratings will vary as well. But I don't think it'll be K... ever. I hate being restricted when it comes to cussing or something. I'll try to keep the dialogue at bay. When someone speaks it will usually be Urotsuki. And at the end of each chapter I guess I'll write my interpretation for the character of the chapter. Sometimes it'll explain why I wrote this and that, I guess.**

**For this chapter, it's Kamen Eshi. Love him and his art. Also, it's M. Only for a lot of skin and paint. No lemons. Nothing close to it.**

**... Guys wait, is this the only 2kki-fic on here? Does that mean no one's going to read this? **

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She had been sitting there for quiet a while now, next to him. She did that a lot, lately.

Like usual, he sat there on the floor, gazing at the huge canvas in front of him that displayed nothing but the seemingly unfinished picture that he had been painting on for as long as she had known him.

Sometimes, he'd add a few quick strokes with his brush in almost the same colour as the one that had been there before. God knows how many layers of paint were on this canvas already.

But she liked watching him paint. She admired how he would move his brushes with so much precision, how he, whenever he stood up and let her peek below his mask a bit, bit his lip, how his clothes were stained with so many colours of paint and how he would sometimes, those very few and rare times, look at her when she spoke, his face obscured by his mask.

He never answered her, though. He never spoke, after all.

She had looked around in his little atelier, sometimes. Some brushes, most of them looking pretty worn, were lying in a small wooden box to his left. When she had looked behind it, she found around sixty cans, bottles and tubes of paint behind his mural and then there was that small ladder that was almost as colourful as the picture that was occupying most of the room.

Maybe she thought she was helping him when she cleaned the brushes from time to time, when she scratched some already dried paint off the floor or put a bottle of whatever colour she thought he might need in front of him. He ignored those gestures, mostly, but she thought that perhaps, yes, he was indeed smiling behind his mask.

From time to time she wondered why she even kept coming to his place. He wasn't very interesting, even when he was painting, he didn't really pay all that much attention to her and he was so, so lonely. Yes, that could be it, actually. He was just as lonely as her. Even when he didn't talk to her, maybe, deep down, he was happy about her company.

She wondered if she could paint, too. He wouldn't teach her, that much she did know. Without asking if it was okay she picked up a brush and eyed it curiosly. To her, this thing didn't look like it was meant to be painted with. And yet it was.

Then she found her company actually looking at her, maybe even a bit interested in what she was going to do. He didn't really look like he was going to be of assistance, though. He never acted like he was meant to be talked to. And yet he somehow was.

She smiled, let the brush soak in some pink paint for a while and then looked at it again. The eyes of the male next to her were still on her. Her smile turned into a broad grin.

Carefully, she lifted the brush, reached out for his hand resting in his lap and let the soft, soaked hair brush over his hand. Needless to say, it left a pink stroke where it had touched his skin.

He looked at it in confusion, then at her, as if to ask her why she had done that. She shrugged. He sighed or did something resembling it. Then, he lifted the brush resting in his other hand and left a stroke of red on her hand.

A giggle escaped her, actually, and before either of the two knew it, she sat in front of him, his hand completely pink. And soon after that, hers was red.

They sat there for a while, just like that. However, he seemed to be quiet interested in where this was going as he, who was usually not the one to do anything, initiated the next step. He rolled her sleeve up to her elbow and started painting her arm sloppily. And yet his movements seemed to be supposed to be just that way: sloppy, curious and quick.

Once more she had to giggle. The tickling sensation on her skin was too much to bear without laughing a bit, she told herself. And then it stopped. She looked at him for a second before rolling up her other sleeve as if saying how she thought it was incomplete that way. He did what he was expected to do.

She wondered how he was feeling that moment. Did he enjoy this? Did he like painting on skin instead of canvas? She couldn't see his face after all.

Soon he had taken care of her other arm, too, and she guessed it was her turn again. When she was about to roll his sleeve up, he suddenly stood up before discarding his paint-stained apron and red overshirt. They would probably be a hindrance if he had to roll his sleeves up further.

Now she rolled up the sleeve of his yellow button-up shirt just past his elbow and tried to imitate the other's movements from before. She wasn't successful, but at least she got it done.

Soon after that, he took his brush again. She casually got rid of her shoe and stocking and rested it in his lap. He looked at it for a while, maybe calculating how many strokes he needed to paint her toes, and then started leaving bright red trails on her foot. It was just on top, first, but then he went for another colour, orange this time, and painted the spaces between her toes, went up her lower tigh and gave it a moist foundation.

Then he painted with yellow, the paint mixing with the still moist orange previously applied. It didn't tickle as bad anymore and she was watching his every movement. How concentrated he seemed. And, despite it being so simple, to her, it looked better than his mural in every way.

Not that his painting wasn't great. But this was just so different from it in every way... and this difference was what made her unable to compare them to each other. And yet... if she had to choose, the paint on her arms and legs was way more interesting, beautiful even.

The footwear on her other leg was quickly discarded as well and the brush was quickly placing strokes of yellow on it again, then green and for her upper tigh a light blue. She was lucky that her skirt was this short. After all, if it hadn't been, then it would have been stained with paint already.

She grabbed her paintbrush again before realising something. He was wearing jeans. Not the kind of jeans you could just roll up to your knees, but the ones which clung to your legs. She sighed when she felt him looking at her, confused. She tried rolling them up, nonetheless, with little success. That was when he got it.

Quickly, he stood up and undid a brown leather-belt she hadn't even noticed until now, followed by kicking off his shoes. Then, for a second, he hesitated. She could very well imagine him blushing under that mask of his. But then, in one fluid motion, he discarded his jeans. He didn't really move or look at her for a few seconds, turning his head away in... shame? Fear? Embarrassment?

And she didn't even gawk at him. Just briefly, she let her gaze travel up and down his legs which were so smooth that almost every girl could be envious of him. His shirt loosely hung over his upper tighs, covering everything located upwards from there. And, to her annoyance, he didn't seem to plan on letting her continue painting soon with that attitude of his.

A quick yank at his ankle, however, made him almost lose his balance and, as soon as he regained it, he flopped down again, placing his foot in her lap as she had done with him before. Unlinke her he had turned his face away from her, though. Again the urge to see his face now, probably red and flustered, came over her. She bit the inside of her cheek to keep herself from smirking before getting down to work.

Her first colour this time was purple, her favourite colour. She started between his toes, ran her brush around them, went up his foot, then under his soles and suddenly found herself fixated by his curious gaze. At least his slightly tilted head told her he was looking at her as if intrigued by the strokes her brush drew on his skin. She found her fingers trembling under the pressure of him looking at her hands and it slipped.

A stroke of purple appeared on her white skirt and she looked at it a second before shrugging and continuing to paint. His focus had shifted elsewhere again and so she felt a bit more relaxed. She continued, this time with what seemed to be cream-colour, up his lower tigh, brushing the tensing muscles on the backside and gently running the brush over his knee. He shook a bit, probably because his whole body had become tense, but he didn't back away.

She appreciated his bravery to keep still while at so much discomfort, so she made quick business of his knee before putting his foot down to reach his upper tigh. Carefully, she drew the brush around his leg without painting on his shirt. Not that it wasn't covered in flecks of colour where apron and overshirt didn't cover it, but it didn't have to get dirtied even more.

The other leg was treated the same, though the colours this time were champagne and bordeaux, just to complete the alcohol-theme.

They looked at each other again, then. She thought hard what he could paint next, having her arms and legs covered in various colours. Somehow, it didn't seem embarrassing to get rid of her pullover or skirt, but how far would he go with taking off his clothes? Surely he'd die of embarrassment she couldn't quiet understand. His face seemed so far away, behind that mask, but she really just wanted to see it, touch it, only once. Maybe, if there was nothing else left to paint, he would go for her face to make his art complete. He knew she painted the places he had dyed another colour on her body, so he wouldn't do that. Probably.

Without further ado or any hesitation at all, he pulled her favourite pullover over her head and threw it somewhere, though hopefully not an open bucket filled with paint. She looked at him to see any reaction but he just _stared_. Not the way he would look at her if he was turned on by this, but the way he would look at his very own muse, at a body that wanted to be drawn, to be painted on and to be _art_. This reaction she couldn't quiet grasp, but then shrugged it off and quickly reached behind her back and undid her bra, her soft, almost flat bosom being fully revealed.

A soft pink blush adorned her cheeks, but at the same time she was quiet alright with this. After all, her male company had no such intentions as taking advantage of her. With only her skirt around her hips she felt a little awkward, but shook it off when a cool, wet brush started traveling up her ribcage. A quiet gasp left her lips when she noticed how cold the pain actually was but kept quiet afterwards.

She lifted her arms a bit to give him more space to work with and he gladly took the opportunity, running the brush around her breast and under her armpit. She flinched a bit at the tickling hair of the brush, but tried to stay as quiet as possible. He ran the brush around her upper body quiet a bit, seemingly very fond of her collarbone, ribs and shoulders, and at some point she found that the tickling, cool sensation had stopped and he body was almost completely covered in dark blue, lavender, lime green, Prussian blue and many other hues resembling them.

That, however, was only on the front, and he didn't seem to want to paint her back at all.

After a few seconds she concluded it was her turn again, so she leaned forward, taking him by surprise and undoing the top button of his shirt. He quickly seemed to catch on and let her do it, waiting until the last button had become undone. Involuntarily he shivered and tensed when she was looking him over. He had to admit he had done the same to her before, but he didn't want to compare her beauty to himself.

She, however, found it quiet amusing, how shy he was. He had no reason to be, in her opinion. His torso wasn't muscular, not sculptured or anything, but not an eyesore, really. She assumed it was because he never was around others much that he thought about himself so much. It was cute, in some way.

It was her turn, she had to remind herself again, and so she did what she was supposed to do. The colour for his belly was a minty green, for his chest she chose a cold blue, yet took the freedom to messily draw a red heart on it, for his shoulders it was a light pink and his neck was quickly dyed a bright orange, even though the collar of his shirt, which was hanging loosely on his shoulders by now, tried to dip into the paint from time to time.

They sat there for a while, silence setteling between them, before he took his brush, maybe to correct something, and tried to let the paint soak into it. However, he found it being taken from his hand and he gazed curiously after the girl that had taken it. Then, she grabbed his hand and let his fingers be enveloped by the wet paint before pulling it out, then leading it towards her face and let his fingers caress her cheek, the paint leaving wet streaks on her soft skin.

A few moments later he added his other hand on her other cheek, doing the exact same thing as she seemingly wanted him to do. When the paint had dried on her face and his fingers he withdrew his hands and let them rest in his lap, waiting for her to do something. And, as she had done before, she copied what he had done, sticking her fingers into the paint and reaching out to-

His head shot back at what felt like the speed of light. A gentle chuckle escaped her lips and she smiled at him, her smile almost urging him to feel at ease and let her touch his still masked face. After a while he leaned forward again, allowing her fingers, once again covered in fresh, wet paint, to graze his cheekbones which where still partially accessible with the mask on. Only after she tried to move her hands it got harder to reach anything. And when she was about to withdraw her hands, he did something she didn't expect to happen.

He gripped on one ear of his asymmetrical mask and pulled on it in a hesitant movement. Another tug and another and he had moved the mask to one side of his face, the other half of it being clearly visible. And, as she had been expecting all this time, his cheeks were a bright red, almost as red as the paint on them. Long blond bangs hung into his face and his eyes were cast downwards as if it made her disappear if he didn't look at her.

But instead, she smiled, gripped his chin and forced him to look at her. And, while reluctant, he did. As soon as that happened, fingers were on his accessible cheek again, rubbing the slowly drying paint onto his skin. Red, blue, purple and yellow, his jawline orange from her thumb guiding her other fingers from below.

And then she thought for a second before her face reddened and shee looked away. She could impossibly-! But then again, why not? Neither of them would mind, she concluded and withdrew her hands from his face, applying new paint to them but instead of colouring his or her own face with it, she coated her lips in the green hue she had randomly chosen. A confused gaze was shot at her.

One deep breath and then she leaned forward in just the right way to capture his lips with her own. She moved a little against his but after a few seconds she pulled away. He didn't seem flustered, happy, unhappy, shocked or at least surprised, but confused. She shrugged and grinned before getting up. She could feel his gaze follow her but just ignored it picking up her bra, her shoes and her pullover, ready to leave.

Just when she turned around to leave, just then, she heard it, soft, barely audible but still there, a voice, shy, quiet, soft, speaking as if it were the first time anything had ever been said in it.

"Your socks..."

It was a just a helpful remark, reminding her of how she had almost forgotten something, but to her, to her it was a lot more. The ever silent, faceless character she had come to adore had not only shown his face, but also his voice to her. And she was at loss.

"A-ah, yes! Thanks!"

She had replied hastily, quickly picking up her stockings before facing the male again, smiling a broad smile. Again, a gaze was averted and a head was turned away, a mask clumsily pulled over a face to hide flushed cheeks. She chuckled.

"I'll drop by when I'm around, so see ya!"

She had said with a small wave and a grin. He turned away.

"That'd be... nice."

Was what she had heard him say when she walked out of the painting, somewhat happy at heart.

_Too bad all the paint will be gone once I wake up..._

Not that he would mind. She had never given him an understanding of what time was. Neither did he know about the meaning of the physical contact they had shared today. But that was okay. He didn't have to have a vast knowledge, after all.

With a sigh, she brought her fingers to her cheek and pinched it.

* * *

**A/N: I don't think someone hiding behind a mask is really talktive... Just gives off that vibe, somewhat.**

**Anyways~ I said that I was going to say how I think the NPCs are involved with Uro or something like that, so...**

**Kamen-San always stuck me as a friend who got hurt and then shut himself off, hid behind everything he could find and got lost in his own thoughts at some point. **

**The mask, as I said above, seems to be hiding his face, his emotions, what he wants to say. He lives in that painting which he never seems to finish even though he works on it, shut off in the art gallery. When he's killed he leaves his mask behind, which could mean that no one really remembered the person behind the pretense or self-exclusion. **

**2kki seems to be a lot easier to interpret. After all, the worlds are more obvious. So are the characters.**

**I dunno who will be next, but hey~ surprise, surprise~**


	2. Disability

**A/N: So~ I guess I'll just do the A/Ns for this fic like this:**

**Fandom: Yume 2kki**

**Rating: T**

**Character: Heishi-Kun **

**Pairing: n/a**

**Warning: Author is not content with this chapter at all? Is that a warning?**

**Aside from that... Heishi-Kun needs more love. He gives you an effect and you won't give a flying fuck about him after that. ... I somtimes go tease the bunch of PMS-Chans by chainsawing him...**

**Also... Reviews would be lovely. But I guess that's obvious. Maybe I'll add a quick doodle for this fic sometime. It's odd to have the P4-MC hug Jack Frost next to all my fics.**

* * *

For a while now she had been wondering what was beyond that door. The pitter-patter of rain could be heard from behind it, but what if it just was one of those dead ends she destested? But she could always go back, she reminded herself.

Once again, she mounted her bike and drove into the rain. There was nothing else, at least nothing notable. A forest was surrounding the grey building she was driving on top of, and a few puddles adorned everything around her, but that was it. Nothing else to it. Or so she thought.

The further she got, the louder the sound of rain hitting metal had become. And then she saw them. Stairs, going down God knows how many metres. She dismounted her bike and took off her helmet, ready to descend the stairs, when a drop of green hit her head. It rolled down her forehead, over her entire face and then was washed away by the rain.

Her eyes widened in horror, the green liquid reminding her of something. She lifted her head and protected her eyes from the raindrops with her palm, praying for it not to be who she thought it might be.

She exhaled in relief. A few metres above her head in a pool of green sat a monster, resmbling a sea-snake, so tall that she couldn't see its head. If it did have one, that is. Turning away she continued on to the bottom-level of those stairs, the rain soaking into her clothes.

Soon, she was greeted by a doorway, leading to another staircase. With a sigh she went on.

When she reached the bottom she foudn herself surrounded by water, nasty smelling at that. Maybe it was just dirty, maybe those were the sewers. The further she went, the more odd creatures were swimming around in the smelly liquid. She shook her head and walked on faster, in the end almost running.

Actually, her running got her to almost run into a wall. One or two centimetres were between her nose and the cold surface. That was when her gaze traveled, quickly finding the ladder to her right. She shrugged and climbed it.

The first the she noticed when she got up on her feet was that she had indeed climbed out of a manhole. Then she realised a man was standing next to her, a sign for a head. He just stood there, the sign pointing towards something. The other direction didn't seem like anything worth exploring and so she went where the man's head was pointing at.

She couldn't say she had been expecting to end up in a traditional, small Japanese town, some people standing around or sitting on benches. A woman holding a parasol, clad in a greyish-blue yukata stood turned away from her. Maybe she knew if there was something interesting to get here.

Reaching out a hand after the woman she vanished. The girl blinked. Why was that, now? She tried to talk to a man sitting on a bench at the bus-stop. He vanished as well. She sighed. Now that didn't seem like anyone or anything would be here.

A dark alleyway, however, caught her interest. Not that interacting with anyone here would lead to something. After all, those people just disappeared. And she had learned that dark places held more mysteries... more interesting things than light spaces of infinite beauty.

The faint sound of leaves dancing in the wind stopped as soon as she had stepped between the walls of two houses. Soundless darkness was nothing she was really used to, so her legs carried her as fast as they could. Then, bright light flooded her vision again. The alleyway wasn't as long as she had thought, having seen almost endless corridors, but now she was greeted by daylight again.

She walked along a long wall to her left, a channel to her right. About five minutes of walking she suddenly noticed shadowy people looking at her from the water. It was hard to make out details, even their faces were cloaked by some sort of veil which seemed to be the only clothing they wore. Well, aside from the glowing, bright red eyes, staring right into her soul.

Naturally she ran as fast as she could.

Looking back, the cratures didn't even follow her. In fact, not even their gazes did. She ran on nonetheless until she found herself enveloped by darkness again, which caused her to stop dead in her tracks.

Actually, she hadn't even seen anything before everything became dark. She had probably been too scared and had subconciously closed her eyes.

Now she took the time to look around in the almost completely dark room. Her hands ran over several surfaces while she was trying not to run into anything. Some walls were almost bouncing around, sometimes disappearing beneath her touch. And yet she kept on walking forwards, determined to find something, anything.

Slowly she came closer to a source of light. Or at least it appeared to be one as some corners of the walls guiding her around seemed to be illuminated, first dimly, then more clearly until she thought she could make out the shadow of a human being.

A few steps later she found that she had been right. There was someone sitting in a spotlight, looking down at their lap. That person hadn't heard her approaching, she concluded, or at least they weren't willing to acknowledge her presence.

And then she stood in front of them. Now she could see that this person was a boy, clad in a black gakuran with a matching cap, his long, asymmetrical fringe covering almost all of his face, an odd purple complexion peeking out from below.

A crutch was resting to his right, his left arm in a cast. The way he sat on his knees was quiet strange as well, she noticed, but didn't really look at it. She cleared her throat, hoping for him to notice her presence. He did.

His head shot up, eyes wide in panic, his hair being messed up a little from the sudden movement. His expression changed from alarmed to relaxed when he saw her and brought his left hand up as far as he could. She was a little confused but then touched the somewhat cool surface of the cast. A familiar feeling washed over her.

Before she could react, she found her one arm in a cast as well, staring at it. The clean white bandages had something about them, but at the same time she felt weak, vulnerable. Almost as if she couldn't do anything anymore.

Then, she glanced at the boy again. He was looking at her arm as well, moving his own a little in his lap. His lap. She hadn't even noticed this! At first she thought he was sitting strangely, but now she suddenly realised that his legs didn't make him sit like this, rather the lack thereof. His right, seemingly good arm, was only half its lenght at best, the sleeve of his uniform jacket knotted tightly together.

She gasped softly and saw how a blush was forming on his cheeks, though he had turned his head away in shame. But why would that boy be ashamed? He might have had... well, not a single limb at all, but there had to be a reason for that.

Shaking her head, she noticed how she had started staring at the boy's knees again, somewhat fascinated by how they weren't any longer than that. "U-um..." she began, feeling slightly embarrassed at how she couldn't even form whole sentences. " You... um... hi?"

The obviously disabled boy looked up at her again, a calm smile on his surprisingly stoic features. Giving a quick nod as if to show her that he had heard her and appreciated her efforts to keep herself from gawking. "It's okay to look at me like that. I guess it is indeed pretty strange to look at. Me, that is" he answered in a soft tone, the breathiness of his voice so strong that it wouldn't have been a surprise if he had really just breathed in and out, randomly producing words.

She shook her head no and decided to sit down next to the boy, not wanting to look down on him. "So what if it's weird? I'm weird too, so we're on the same level, aren't we?" she almost spat, quiet close to getting angry at the boy for thinking he was different from everyone else because he had no arms or legs.

Again, he smiled softly in response. "I don't think you should compare yourself to me. After all, everything I do is decided and there's nothing I can do about that. But you can go wherever you want to go, do what you want to do. That's your path while mine is merely this single spot I'm sitting in" he said, closing his eyes and smiling more wrily than before.

"You could go wherever you want to go if you just really wanted to, from the bottom of your heart. I'm sure of that" the girl grinned, resisting the urge to smack the boy's surprisingly slim shoulders.

That smile again. "Well, if you say so that has to be the truth, right? But I don't think I would enjoy any place. This is my path, after all."

She grew frustrated with him. Terribly, terribly frustrated. But she had to admit that he probably didn't have the brightest outlook on life, having no limbs, no ability to move from here, this dark, hopelessly depressing place. "Maybe it really is for your own best..." she mused. "But that aside... why _don't_ you have... well..." The words got stuck in her throat, her eyes shifting nervously. She felt so bad for asking this question...

"It just happened" he shrugged, then went on. "First I lost my right, then my left leg. After that came my one arm, the other one will probably be gone soon, too. It was as if they had just rotten away" the boy mumbled the last part but then looked at her again.

"Are you sick?"

He seemed to be caught off guard by that one. "I don't know... if I'm sick. I don't feel sick. It's more like my body was decaying while I'm still alive. My senses are getting blurry, too. It's a bit lonely" the boy shrugged.

The girl next to him sighed. "But why are you here, then? You should have gone outside when you still could!"

"The only thing I remember was being here, waiting for something. I assume that 'something' is you" he nudged his head in the direction of her cast. She immediately understood it, feeling quiet bad all of a sudden. "But I finally met you, so now I don't have to stay alive anymore."

"Is it... such a pain?"

"I was left here to die. And finally I can do what I'm here for. I've been of use to you and now I can stop caring about my ears ringing, my eyes blurring, my body going numb... I'm... happy" he said, smiling at her with a smile not wry, not happy, not gentle.

Thankful.

Before she knew it warm droplets were rolling down her cheeks. "Ah, what am I doing?" she asked, wiping her tears away. Quickly, her arm in a cast was free again, a familiar sensation of getting rid of something the like tickling in her hands, lower arms, elbows, upper arms, armpits.

And she embraced him. Around the neck, patting the straight hair sticking out from under his cap, pressing her head to his slender, clothed collarbone. He really did smell like he was rotting away.

When she let go, he had closed his eyes and his head was lulling to the side, a grin on his features. Then he opened his softly coloured orbs, looked at her and nodded towards the direction she had come from. "Leave a dying man be, will you?" he smiled.

"Geez..." was all she could say before turning her back towards him. Then she added, barely above a whisper: "next time, I won't let you rot. And this-" she turned around again "-is a promise!"

But he just sat there, the spotlight he sat in slowly darkening, his form slumped.

It was rare for Urotsuki to wake up with her eyes filled with genuine tears.

* * *

**A/N: CAN'T. WRITE. SAD. STUFFS.**

**Whatever, theory-time! So, I think that Heishi-Kun just was someone Uro knew, involved with some sort of shady business at a young age. The Cripple-Effect makes her say that she 'can't do it' or simply 'no', which shows that she thinks of disability as something extremely restricting. Heishi-Kun might have just been completely messed up in his mind or was incapable of doing the things he was supposed to do, him being an amputee just being a metaphor. Um, anyways, so killing him off makes a bunch of PMS-Chans going after you, maybe shwoing that once he was abandoned his whole business came crashing down, hurting the people around him. **

**If it were like this, I guess time would make everything worse for him until he, in the end, couldn't take it anymore. AND THEN THIS CHAPTER HAPPENED.**

**Seriously, I hate this one. Maybe I'll re-write it one day. Or write something else.**


	3. Death

**A/N: I should be studying for Phsyics, but I seriously need a break right now. I've been stuck on a Maths problem since noon and can't get it right, I half-assed my French homework and what is this German homework you speak of?**

**I'm frustrated. I know that I'll get Physics done for once, but Maths is really giving me a hard time right now. I just can't get any of that into my head. Maybe I'll go ask Tim again because he's smart and is good at studying. I can't do that, I'm just too thick to pull that off.**

**Anyways, enough of my complaining! I'm back! Yay.**

**Fandom: Yume 2kki**

**Rating: M**

**Character: Yukata**

**Pairing: Maybe Uro-Yuka, but... not really.**

**Warning: Blood, gore, sadism (?), death**

**Since everyone knows Yukata. Another potencial bishie. Pretty much every male is. But is it just me, or does Tako Otoko have the biggest chances at being naturally pretty AND well-known?**

* * *

Her blood was rushing in her ears. She could hear it.

Frankly, she wasn't sure if it was the new effect or the tension she could feel in her fingertips, even, but she knew for a fact that this wasn't the kind of place she belonged.

The scent of sweat and urine, mixed with the biting stench of alcohol surrounded her. A song, way too agressive for her tastes, was blaring and bright magenta light was flooding her vision. No, she wasn't comfortable. And the alien feeling of being about two metres tall didn't put her at ease either.

But worst of all were the people around here. If it had been strangers that were staring at her it wouldn't have been half as bad. No, the only ones around were those creatures that chased her around mercilessly, just to get rid of her. It was creepy and scary and obsessive, she thought.

Yet, despite acknowledging her presence, these grotesque, strange creatures were here, laughing, dancing, drinking, smiling and talking to each other like normal beings. Her pulse got faster and adrenaline was pumping through her veins, and before she knew it she had returned to her actual size, now standing at the same height as most of the humanoid monsters.

Again, all eyes were on her. She swallowed the building lump in her throat. Then they turned away. She sighed. That was close. The hair on her neck stood up and a shiver ran down her spine. No, she was to act natural.

That was what made her walk up to one of the two bars, timidly flopping down and ordering a glass of beer. Beer was good. From the many times she had visited Japan-Town she knew that Sake got her piss-drunk on the third glass. Cocktails she didn't like. Beer it was.

With a lowered head, she accepted the glass and kept staring into it. Maybe no-one would care about her if she didn't look at anyone as though to start a fight.

She heard someone shuffle next to her. And then she looked up.

Tall. Very tall. And also colourful. Toned below wide robes. Fox mask in place on his face. Black hair straight, cut cleanly, beautiful.

Once, he had shown her the way. Yet, for him to be in this place he had to be not only helpful. She gulped. And when their eyes met, violet with what could have been brown behind that mask, she shuddered and turned away. And then it happened.

"Don't act so stiff around here" he had said, his voice holding bemusement and arrogance. His smirk was conveyed by his tone. "They might get you then."

But his voice was warm. Not the cold voice she had been expecting. His voice was deep and rough and warm. Yet, it made her shiver.

"You too, right?" she snarled and her grip on the glass in her hands tightened.

He chuckled softly, turning his face so that she could see the corners of a shapely mouth curl upwards. "I don't want to hurt women" he stated and the bartender gave him a glass of clear liquid. Then, he eyed her. "No, I have to correct myself: children."

Another snarl escaped her. This man was provoking her, trying to her so mad that she would come at him with her trust chainsaw in her hands, cutting at him, screaming, yelling, crying, making all the monsters come at her at once.

But maybe he was more dangerous.

"Shut up" she mumbled and tried to calm herself down. She was in enemy territory, completely at this man's mercy. There was no way she'd get out of it.

"Make me."

His voice rang through her whole body. Icy, stoic and not accepting any objections anymore. This was it.

And then, the sound of a sword scrathing in its sheathe. Her blood ran cold.

Not like this.

Metal collided with metal, the chains trying to rip the sword apart every time their teeth met the cold blade. He must have been smiling behind his mask. "Interesting, kid. How long can you keep this up?" he asked mockingly, tilting his head.

Even if the chainsaw should have been able to break his sword it somehow couldn't cut it. She ground her teeth and snarled again, applying pressure to her weapon. The other merely pressed against it, holding it off without greater effort.

And then, she was kicked in the gut. And fell on her arse. Her saw hit the floor between her legs and before she could lift it again, the tip of the sword was pointed at her, right between her brows, waiting to pierce her skull.

"Little girls shouldn't play with these dangerous things" he said, his voice calmly pouring from his mouth like the sweetest honey. And then he picked up her saw.

It was over.

So she closed her eyes. But nothing came. She cracked her left eye open, looking at the man in front of her. That second, he kicked her face to the ground, his geta digging into her face, blade at her throat.

"I'll have some fun with you, don't worry..." he mumbled in that sickeningly sweet tone, kneeling almost on top of her so she would hear. And then the first slash came. It was across her arm, fairly deep for a wound of such a quick action.

She cried out.

"Shut up!" Another kick to her face. Then, the wooden sandal left her face and a hand roughly grabbed her by her collar. "Let's help with that" he hissed to her face and for the first time she realised that that clear liquid must have been something along the lines of Vodka. Maybe this was only to distract herself from what was to come. "Tongue out."

She complied. Because, really, what should she do? She couldn't possibly take on an adult man with a sword without a weapon of her own. But it was comical, actually, how she got to stick out her tongue at the man. Then the tip of the sword went through it and her tears started pouring and her body was shaken by sobs. Only when blood was running down her throat, almost making her choke on it, did she stop sobbing. And, just like that, the front part of the pink muscle that had always been inside her mouth fell down next to her. She wanted to scream, but the was blood rushing out of her mouth and down her throat quickly.

She felt dizzy.

"Stay awake!" was the next command her she was kicked again. But, this time, he sat down on top of her, his unsheathed sword supporting him. "You are allowed to die after I cut you up some more, okay?" he asked, clearly awaiting an answer to see if she could still talk.

Frankly, being dead was better than this. And so she tried choking out sounds, in the end getting a 'yeeh' out. He slapped her. "Do it properly!" he barked at her and she nodded, tears streaming down her face.

"Yeeh cha..." she tried and he sighed in frustration. She got dizzier and her vision was getting blurry. The only thing she could see were the bright shades of pink, yellow, orange and blue the other wore, now stained red.

The blade went into her stomach. She tried to cry out but just choked on the coppery taste of her own blood. Cold iron went lower and lower until it reached her pelvis. A quick thrust and the sword slipped along the lower parts of her abdomen.

Barely could she take it anymore, barely could she keep her eyes open. Noticing this, he leaned down next to her ear, pulling the sword out of her abdomen. "You really are beautiful like this" he whispered softly and ran a hand along her cheek, wiping her tears a bit with it. Then the blade cut off said ear.

The pain she didn't even feel anymore. Neither did she fully register the other slipping his mask to the side to press their lips together, her mouth agape as it was, licking the blood pouring from her cut tongue.

"Truly beautiful."

And she gasped for air. Sitting up in her bed, she was panting heavily, a coppery taste on her tongue. Yes, it was still there, not cut out. The TV was still on.

Standing up, she went to her PC, sat down and began typing furiously.

_Urotsuki's diary, entry 073_

_Do never upset the man with the mask._

* * *

**A/N: Tongues and vocal chords get cut out a lot in Manga, I think. Or just in the ones I read. Maybe I should think about that.**

**... Nah.**

**This is pretty gross. I dunno why it turned out like this. I actually always thought that Yukata should be a stoic, no-nonsense guy, all samurai-style or something. But at some point I thought: no, if he were like that, he'd be honorable and then he wouldn't cut down girls. So, in my mind, he turned into a sick somewhat-villain, just enjoying the feel of thrusting his sword into someone. Oh well.**

**Also, funfact: I wanted to write Usotsuki instead of Urotsuki. LIAR.**

**I'll go have fun with Physics now. G'night.**


End file.
